“So,” observed Average Jones, “I think we may dismiss the key theory.”
“But the locked door this morning?” cried Mrs. Hale.
“The intruder may have done that as he left.”
“I don’t see why,” protested Kirby, in a tone which indicated a waning faith in Jones.
“By way of confusing the trail. Possibly he hoped to suggest that he’d escaped by the fire-escape. Presumably he was on the balcony when Mrs. Hale came out into this room.”
As he spoke Average Jones laid a hand on the heavy net curtains which hung before the balcony window. Instead of parting them, however, he stood with upturned eyes.
“Was that curtain torn before yesterday?” he asked Mrs. Hale.
“I hardly think so. The hotel people are very, careful in the up-keep of the rooms.”
Jones mounted a chair with scant respect for the upholstery, and examined the damaged drapery. Descending, he tugged tentatively at the other curtain, first with his right hand, then with his left; then with both. The fabric gave a little at the last test. Jones disappeared through the window.
When he returned, after five minutes, he held in his hand some scrapings of the rusted iron which formed the balcony railing.